An unpredictable bubble

There is no experience quite like finding the country you currently reside in in the lineup on the international news, where the number of positive stories per week usually fit on one hand.   Geneva made waves while I was there with some rather inflammatory comments from a North Korean speaking at a disarmament conference.  My reaction was along the lines of, “Ooh, diplo-drama down the street.  That’s kinda cool.”

In a developing country, and one less stable than Switzerland (as almost all countries are), we usually make the news for different types of news.

Here, I’ve had that er, pleasure twice in the last couple months (that I know of).  A few weeks ago, Al Jazeera’s nightly news alerted us to conflict between South Sudan and the Sudan over oil. . . in short, the Sudan accused South Sudan of supporting separatist rebels in Darfur, and gave them 30 days to cease the support or have the oil piplines cut off (all the oil wealth of the South has to go through the North).  At which point the South threatened to stop the oil production the North depends on.  So we got to see Juba lit up on a bright red map.  I haven’t had the chance to research it thoroughly to figure out the truth of the matter, and when it comes to politics, truth is second to posturing and gain.  All I know is that negotiations are still ongoing, but the urgency of the situation has dissipated.

More recently, mixed up with nearly constant coverage of Cairo (where I’ll be in just a few days), this baby country has made news with a substantial political shakeup, as the Vice Preisdent and Cabinet have been dismissed by the President.   We’ve heard that more police have been deployed, government offices and some stores have been closed, foreigners have been advised to keep a low profile.  The word on the street has called it an anti-corruption measure. Foreign nalysts have mostly pegged it as an effort by President Kiir to challenge those in his party (the dominant party, the SPLM) who have expressed interest in challenging him in the next election. Again, the truth is less important on the ground than people’s views and reactions to the situation.

What’s interesting is how little this affects my day-to-day life.  I, the sisters, many/most of the teachers, and most of the students stay within the walking distance, so at school it’s business as usual.  Those coming from outside have faced some difficulties getting here with the shutdown, but have always made it here. Without TV or internet, people in the village can remain unaware of international issues like the oil conflict, and know only limited or rumoured information, such as what is heard on the radio, about the more local events of the past few days.

So once again, I’ve found myself in a bubble, made partially of living in a compound with nuns, and partially of living and working among a decentralized, community with limited communication technology.  A bubble where there’s no such thing as a typical day, business as usual when the usual business means unpredictable tasks, responsibilities, and challenges.   I try to stay aware of the political issues that are happening just barely outside the bubble because that’s who I am, but it doesn’t change much of anything of how I serve them.  Political unrest or not, I still get up to face the day, just maybe with a little extra prayer for peace and unity thrown in for good measure.  

Later on:

I had this experience a third time on my journey home, when I saw coverage of protests in Cairo. Egyptair offers free hotels to those with overnight layovers, and so, from a luxury style hotel in Cairo, where, if I had had my head under a large rock, and hadn't turned on the TV at all, I could have gone the entire 16 hours on the ground without knowing that the country is currently in a state of . . . serious conflict.   More on the stopover in Cairo later, but in short, it was 16 hours of serious bubble time.   

Momentum and strategery

Americans are always talking about momentum, and not just in school physics courses.   In sports, in politics, in business, and in various other things that are not strictly controlled by the laws of physics.  And in these arenas, we’re always making strategies and plans that somehow “capture momentum,” and lead to more rapid growth, improvement, or success than we believe was possible under a previous trajectory.  

There’s probably some truth to that, in that events, ideas, and changes so often pick up steam and take on a life of their own, but it is probably also a very culturally-specific concept of time and work.   Momentum makes us feel better about progress, and probably functions as a self-fulfilling prophecy much of the time.   And then the strategies that develop around the idea often become equated with laws of nature.  Businesses project their growth along exponential lines, politicians become obsessed with capturing it at certain points in the election cycle, and marketing types have their bylaws about the timing of events to maximize momentum, e.g. launch things on a Tuesday or Wednesday, but never on a Friday.  

I’ve brought some of that mindset here as a part of my cultural baggage, and I think it hasn’t been the best approach in an African context, whether because the tempo of life is different, I haven’t really learned how momentum works here yet, or because it’s not a strictly accurate understanding of the world.  Not sure which, exactly. Probably a little bit of everything

I’ve waited to start new lessons or concepts with my students until Mondays rather than Fridays, only to find a rainy Monday where they don’t come at all, and maybe the day after for illness, or any number of other reasons.  Life intervenes, and I end up finding that I’ve lost part, most, or all of a week, weeks I don’t really have to spare.  

And then I’ve had lessons where they’ve gulped down material in leaps and bounds, outpacing my lesson plans, happily staying past the time I had planned to end.  And on days like that, I’ve understood it as momentum and optimistically projected based on that single day how much I would be able to accomplish with them (maybe we’ll finish the P4 textbook before I leave?  Maybe even P5!)

Then malaria strikes or exams and public holidays come around, and again, another week, more or less lost.   Or sometimes we miss each other. . . I  wait from 4PM till after 5, go home and start chores, thinking they’ve forgotten, gotten tied up with household chores, or don’t want to risk getting caught in the rain. And then they show up to find an empty classroom 5-10 minutes later, which then, if I find this out, makes me feel like a fool.  And that definitely seems to tak on a negative momentum, making it less likely that we will find each other there the next day.  

Then another day of rapid progress, and the cycle begins again.   I’m don’t think this is a good life lesson, but I’ve learned to plan less. . . not look ahead and anticipate too much, not plan out lessons in bite-size chunks, but just chew through as much material as possible when we can actually sit down for a lesson.  I’ve tempered my expectations. However, I’ve had more trouble shaking the strategery (our former president has provided a good word for misguided strategies) mentality.  Even up to this last week, I have waited to pull a student from class till after the breakfast break thinking/strategizing they would need a few periods to get acclimated after a couple days of absence, only to get tied up with various other tasks, or found my student has gone home, still sick, and again missed opportunities.

But things even out, and with the shared goal guiding my students and I we’ve adapt and make the best of what we have.   The phonics approach we started with has allowed us to speed through the English textbooks, dozens of pages at a time, and by today, which is probably the last lesson I’ll be able to give, we’ve gotten through P2 and a good chunk of the P3 English books.  Maybe not as thoroughly as I have hoped we would on the best of days, but even in the absence of forward momentum or effective strategies, we have come quite a long way down the road together.

Storm's a coming. . . 

South Sudan in Pictures, Part 3: Ordination Edition

 Chairs lined up waiting for people to come for the ordination of a new priest. I thought they looked really cool, both “before,” and “after,” when the community filled nearly every last one.  

Said new priest, from Vietnam and the bishop who ordained him, join in a traditional dance complete with men wearing ostrich feather headdresses.

A boy collecting plastic bottles in the White Nile floats on a bag of bottles/impromptu raft

Cows that interrupted our trip home. . . The long horns indicate that they were males, and, I'm told, the preponderance of males, means they were probably headed for the butcher rather than going to be someone’s bride price

Before the deluge: the second-biggest storm since I’ve been here.

Minou the cat, Sr. Celestina, a parish altarboy, and Ellie, an Italian volunteer, chat while sorting out the flags that lined the road during the ordination

There’s hope yet. . . my first Juba rainbow.

Improvised lesson plans in pictures

Here's some of the lessons I tried to teach when I was being pulled into classes with no notice and no preparation.  Points for effort? 

Teaching on the United States, including some American slang to the left.  One student, who I call "Al-ra'ees (the President) for his political tendencies, continues to greet me with “how’s it hanging.”  I’ve created a monster. 

Student horseplay in front of a quick lesson on adjectives/synonyms.

Comparing the US and South Sudan

Adjectives again, this time with a nice letter to their mother I tried to get them to write together using the new words. 

I pulled a short article from a South Sudanese paper I enjoy and had them read for new words and understanding. And yes, I tried to explain hydroelectricity.  Eek. 

Fauna-tastic, part 3: Creepy crawlies, things that go bump in the night, and BABY MONKEYS

A fascinating white tendriled bug that looked at first like a feather or wad of paper crawling along the ground. 

Our yard has been taken over by sizeable toads that come out late at night.   I only hope they got that big by eating mosquitoes. 

On a visit to a mission village a couple hours away for mass (more on that later), a family had adopted 2 baby monkeys.  We saw a bunch more wild ones (yep, it’s official, I’m in Africa) on the way back but the ride was too bumpy to get them on camera.  

It’s hard to see, but I caught a picture of the bats that circle above the compound, hopefully eating mosquitoes. Bats are cool. 

HAPPPY BIRTHDAY SOUTH SUDAN

On July 9th, we celebrated the second anniversary of South Sudan’s independence.   Things were rumoured to be a little crazy out.  There was a worry about crowds and celebrations getting out of hand for foreigners, so the government sent police to stay in the community, and some of the grossly underpaid policeman started taking advantage, especially of foreigners.  So  we stayed in, watched the official government celebration, complete with many heads of state (for security, they shut down all internet and phone lines), on local TV .  I made a cake (another round of my grandmother’s zucchini bread, this time marbled), and we blew out two candles.  

This baby country fought for a long time for this privilege. Now that they’ve earned it, they have a long way to go to overcome years of domination by the North, tribalism, and underdevelopment.   With time, effort, and help from outside, where necessary, I believe they can get there.   I feel quite fortunate to be able  to experience and play an infinitesimal role in its infancy.

Happy Birthday, and God Bless South Sudan.

A thousand little missions

I'll admit that I don't like the word "missionary" at all. It's too loaded with all of the baggage of people doing not-Christian things to foreign civilizations in the name of faith.  Good has been done in the same category, but the bad examples I've accumulated from years of study and reading foreign literature weigh heavier on my mind. Every time I see the word "missionary work," on my South Sudanese Visa it makes me cringe a bit. Mission without the -ary is also tough, but has gotten a little better.

And especially lately, when I’m not sure I’ve accomplished much of anything, when the totality of everything we’re up against is overwhelming, when I need to do things that I’ve developed a mental block about. . . like entering some particularly challenging classes, or when getting up in the morning is a little harder after a really long day the day before I sometimes try to think of my work here as composed of a few thousand little missions . . . Yes, it’s a glorified to-do list, but it helps

• Mission: Get through 6 periods of Sr. Betty’s classes (she’s away on retreat) and hope my lesson plans don’t collapse under the weight of my extremely mediocre classroom management skills
• Mission: Finish collecting the data for the governmenton the ages and genders of the over 600 students in school for the governmentand not go insane as my busy busy busy self clashes with my OOOOH, DATA self
• Mission: In between those 6 classes and data collection, find time to figure out with one of my students when we can meet in the afternoon and keep pushing her through the English Texbooks
• Mission: Use up as much eggplant as possible in a somewhat edible way , as it won’t stop growing in our garden
• Mission: Learn from my mistakes, take brief solace in the successes of the day, and get up tomorrow and do it again even better

The Juba Diet

Readers on the Continent:  You can be among the select few to get a sneak preview of the next big diet-bestseller.   The Juba Diet, a revolutionary, combination of diverse food and hard work never seen before on the mass market.

[PS: this is part satire, and part reflection on my day-to-day. I fully realize this isn't the reality of Juba for most, but it was mine. Please don't think me naively insensitive]

1) Eat a varied diet: 

Ethiopian and Pizza: YES.

The food we eat reflects how international we are, as well as creative reworking of whatever staples we have on hand. We dine on pasta, rice,  Ethiopian, African stews including meat or smoked fish, okra, local greens shat I’m becoming quite fond of.  I’ve made American-style breakfasty things a couple times (taking brunch and brinner international), introduced the house to hummus and guacamole. Potato dishes.  Sauteeed cabbage with carrots and onions (I’ve noticed that almost all dishes somehow start with frying onions).  We get food donations from Italy, including  A LOT of cans of Tuna in olive oil, and I have found out how many things can be made with it.  The same goes for eggplant and zucchini that won’t stop growing in our garden.

Breakfast usually consists of half to a third of the staple bread around here, these loafs that resemble a crescent roll and are the delicious combination of crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, plus a dab each of groundnut/peanut butter and jelly, which is usually my new favorite of orange or apricot marmalade, and a Juba-sized banana, also eaten with groundnut butter.  And coffee, which, like in Cairo, is either instant or espresso, which is made in the silver contraption here.  I am not entirel ysure I can go back easily to American drip coffee.

2) Accept goodwill in the form of food: 

Heap of rice, sukuma, and Mama Vicky's
heart successfully conquered. 

During my first few days at the school, Mama Vicky, the school cook, keeper of the keys, nurse, translator, and everything else that might be needed, started feeding me at the midmorning break what she givesto the teachers, and I’ve been eating it ever since, at first out of solidarity, now because eating it seems to make Mama Vicky happy, and most  of all, it is delicious. . . Rice with local spinach from our garden, (increasingly often) beans with the aforementioned bread loaves that function as both utensil and side, a tomato-based soup with chunks of meat, which, as the teachers like, usually comes attached to a piece of bone, also with bread, and sometimes just super-sweet tea, South Sudanese style and bread.     Almost every day. Increasingly, at the request of the teachers, it’s been beans, and I may need to cut back because the beans are good, but not every day.

[As a side note, I now understand why the Arabic word for peanuts/groundnuts (that I learned after a few days of asking around in Cairo) is fool sudani (Sudanese Beans).   They’re one of the staple crops here.  And, appropriately, I’ve learned that the South Sudanese call normal beans, the staple breakfast here as well as in Egypt (though made a little differently) fool masri (Egyptian beans).]


We also get offerings from the many who pass through. . . Bananas from the mission in Maridi, cucumbers from the neighboring priest’s community, sausages and cheeses from those coming from Italy. Everything is at least worth trying, and most of it is worth going back for seconds.

3) Drink lots of water: 

the Juba diet is many bottles (refilled from our jugs) of water. . . on hot days, I try to have as many as I can reasonably drink.  In the words of a good friend from my DC days, I hydrate to dominate.

4) Engage in a variety of upper and lower body exercises: 

Having a field day. 

I walk to and from the school a few times a day, often with bulky heavy objects that need to go from one place to another.  I play messenger sometimes throughout the compound.  I work my forearms by writing on chalkcboards  When teaching, I pace the classroom constantly, I actively demonstrate the meanings of as many words as possible, to try to weave a tight-knit web of association in the student’s brain.   I play with the students. . . I lift jugs full of water onto the cooler. Many times daily, I am frequently bending or kneeling down to put things away. I help to  clean almost daily.

4) Be busy all the time:

Lunchbox for the watchmen.
Text: "Living relaxedly, homio life."
Inspiring nonsense. courtesy of China

 The other key component of the Juba diet is staying very, very busy.  Beyond teaching and working with the students, from around 7:15 when I wake up to 10:30-11 when I go to bed, there are dishes to wash, places to clean, people to track down the old-fashioned way, and anything else that’s required.  I have also become responsible for preparing tea and food every evening for our 3  nightwatchmen, which is like suddenly having three picky children . . with guns. . . to feed.  This has taught me that I can be an improvisational, recipe-less cook, but not a very good one. It leaves very little downtime other than a little TV in the evenings with the sisters (Al Jazeera news and Nigerian movies (apparently they’re calling it Nollywood), and reading before bed.

This is a diet that is half about enjoying good food, so as you might guess, it’s not the most effective way to shed pounds (or kilos). . . last time I checkd out of curiosity there had definitely been change from Geneva. But the Juba diet is not about weight loss.  I am healthy, happy, experiencing so much, and trying my best to give this country my best in the short time I’m here.

I invite you all to read my probably-not-forthcoming book, come volunteer in South Sudan and let the Juba diet transform your life.

Resolved: A Teacher is Better than a Doctor

I had another successful and really rewarding side project this week that allowed me work with some really talented students, brought about something substantial,  and reminded me where my talents were strongest. . . .

I knew some of our 6th grade students were always having debates among themselves, and now that our beautiful hall is fully constructed and inaugurated by an ordination, everything was in place.  Hearing of plans for a debate, I helped one 6th grade student I’ve grown close to formulate a debate challenge to the 8th grade class, and volunteered to help organize things.  

Thanks teachers!

As the week went on, I got the team lists and team captains clarified, found teachers to help judge, held a meeting to discuss the rules, and encouraged the students.

However, this place continues to remind me that the better prepared you are, the more likely it is that something will happen to mess with the plan.   On Friday, we had one of the morning deluges that makes our students come late or not at all, the sisters in charge of the school needed to leave unexpectedly for doctors and embassies, and other difficulties.  But with the teams mostly intact and some fantastic teachers who stepped up, I kind of unilaterally decided to have it, and Alhamdulillah, everything fell into place better than I could have imagined it.

Teachers, without being asked, took on roles I, as a non-debater, hadn’t anticipated were necessary, with great enthusiasm.  The students showed up to watch, and stayed to listen long after school despite empty stomachs.  And the debaters did so well, debating the respective merits of doctors and teacher with such dignity and pride, it melted my heart with simultaneous pride and humility.

In the end, the results were incredibly close but the upperclassmen, in part due to greater showmanship, took it by a few points.  I had to console my favorite 6th grader, who despite such an impressive effort, a perfect score from one of the judges, and the courage to challenge the upperclassmen, was distraught. . . which then broke my newly-melted heart.

The brave 6th grade captain.  So proud of her!

And it was a perfect fit with my talents and way of organizing things.  It was an academic acivity that brought me closer to the students, like myself at the same age, are interested in communication and social issues (being smart can be so lonely at that age).  I made someone else's dream areality with my skills of  communication, organization, and problem-solving. I worked behind the scenes, and on the day of, I stepped back, volunteered to be timekeeper, let those with the greatest stake in things rule the day in more prominent roles.  Sr. Betty gave me some credit at the end, but that was less important than quietly watching the clock run down and knowing that it probably wouldn’t have happened had I not stepped up.

As a VIDES volunteer I am supposed to give the youth confidence. The debate accomplished this in many ways, and gave me as a young volunteer a bit of confidence as well.

Hopefully it continues.  We have tentative plans to repeat it with a 6th grade-7th grade debate on Friday, and my goal is to arrange and coach a debate against the secondary school before I leave at the end of July.  Stay tuned.

In my comfort zone: setting things in motion, stepping
behind the real stars, and letting them shine.
(see if you can spot me behind the speaker)

Fauna-tastic 2: Edible Mammals Edition

A praying mantis (I imagine) worshiping the gorgeous Juba sunset from the window of our kitchen. 

A series of performances celebrating a priestly ordination and visit from a bishop, after a while resembled what my Dad might call a “Dog and Pony Show," complete with an actual sheep given to the new priest by residents of a nearby village. 

A very large bee taking time to smell/pollinate the flowers next to the school.

I am not sure if I will ever be used to seeing cows wandering around our school grounds . . . luckily it only happens occasionally. 

The (someone said) pregnant rabbit caught by some of our students at the school. The teachers had not-brilliantly planned on keeping it in the staff room over the weekend and eating it on Monday.  Thankfully, the students returned and took it home for dinner at the end of the day.  I'm OK with eating rabbits, but not unnecessary suffering/risk of death and decay over the weekend.

Nifty gigantic beetle thingy spotted outside our kitchen. 

(Re)Discovering My Calling

. . . And right on time too. 

[note to readers:  this entry got kind of long, windy and unweildy, but writing it was therapeutic so I’m going to post *mostly* unedited, *mostly* for my own benefit]

Living mostly off the grid, mostly apart from other Americans, there are times when I’ve felt very very distant from my former “yuppie-esque” life in DC.  Many of the aspects of my personality and mannersims that don’t translate very well either to non-young adult Americans, from my overreliance on sarcasm, to the references to favorite sitcoms that effortlessly litter my everyday conversation with my closest friends at times seem down right foreign.   With only a few minutes of Internet time a day on my Kindle, I don’t stay updated every minute with the news or social media the way I used to. I havn’t had a phone to send a text on since January. Other aspects of my formerly independent self don’t translate well to community life, so those have been reduced as well, although my perpetual clumsiness, despite efforts to rein it in, may have gotten worse.

So anyway, I’ve adapted, and at least proven again to myself that I’m still the person who’s always said that I can be happy pretty much everywhere.  I am happy here . . . the Juba version of myself is content, and I’ve had brief visions of what it would be like to be more like the Juba version of myself more permanently, as a teacher, abroad or otherwise, and for a couple hours one day, I even pictured myself as a sister despite the overwhelming evidence that it would be very wrong for me.  

 I haven’t forgotten 30 Rock references,
I just don’t hear or use them.
This student, writing about how the animals
“is about to go to there," still gave me a laugh.

All these adaptations and musing have occurred with the underlying knowledge that I would be reentering most aspects of my former life in a short time. . . the constant connectivity, limitless entertainment options, intellectual and academic pursuits, and once again learning to recognize the inevitable Arrested Development or 30 Rock references my friends will drop in Gchat, text messages, and long conversations.  When this world seemed most distant, my approaching reentry has inspired a bit of trepidation.  I’ve committed to two years of study to get my Master’s, fully embedded in an American city. . . would I still find this fulfilling?

But motto, mantra, overarching life goal, that I’ve  adopted (and actually applying to VIDES was what helped me to crystallize it), is to “do good, and be good at it.”  It means, I want to, above all, do work that I believe has a positive impact on the world, and to do so in a way that uses my gifts, my ‘knowledge, skills, and abilities,’ in US Government speak, in the fullest way possible for the good of others.  Underneath all my musings about the alternative Lauras, I’ve known that here, I am doing good, and for many aspects of it, such as working with the students who come from an Arabic background, I am indeed “good at it.”  In others I’m just OK, and some aspects of my personality such as being too prone to analyze and observe, not prone enough to act, have not always made me the most effective volunteer I could be.

Master Schedule:  3 classes, 5 days, 6 periods per day,
Wherever possible, 2 teachers per class
. . . First Draft of many

This week I had the opportunity to recapture some bits of myself that remained dormant, to do good and be uniquely good at it.  I helped Sr. Celestina rework the scheduling for the 1st grade classes, that were recently reorganized so that students could get the help and attention best suited to their current abilities.  This work brought me back to my “data
nerd/economist/project manager” self that thrived in DC. With relish, I gathered information on our objectives, scheduling constraints, considered how our classrooms functioned, the teachers taught, and our students learned. I weighed the pros and cons of tricky scheduling decisions and made the ones that I thought best balanced competing objectives and constraints. I used all my super nerdy Excel tricks to keep the “data” organized. It was halfway between choreographing a dance and doing a crossword. On the administrative side, I redid the “near-final” schedule every day this week when teachers were added, removed, or reassigned, and had a nice collaborative team going with Sr. Celestina as we discussed and negotiated different approaches.  I’m reasonably certain we’ll be adjusting the schedule again for a yet-unknown reason, but instead of frustration, I am half-looking forward to incorporating new information and hopefully making a schedule that might be even better at using our available resources to promote the learning and sense of stability these young students need.  Though I’m sure my thinking about the schedule, while good in some ways, probably has a few misconceptions built in as well.

In short, with this project, I was in my element in a way I never could hope to be in a classroom.  This week was a gift for me.  .  It called upon my strongest abilities, allowed me to use them, and reminded me of the joy that comes when I am truly doing good and being good at it.    It has helped me envision my future, and leading me to anticipate the opportunity to refine those gifts through further study and then use them in a mantra-friendly career insha’allah.   My decision of a graduate program that will train me in both analysis and practical leadership has been affirmed. . . more than ever I feel called to work where I can study others’ situations with the perspective of an informed outsider, and humbly help others to be better at doing good.  Meanwhile, my direct service experiences here and elsewhere  will help me remain aware of what it’s like to be a “doer,” and  remind me that for all an outside analysis can often see more clearly, so much also will be obscured by otherness.

The Catholic idea of a person having a holistic call or vocation has always made sense to me, and this week, in South Sudan, I was joyfully reminded of mine.

The weight of words

Here's a paradox. . . a picture is worth a thousand words, but words are sometimes not worth that much. . . so what's the real exchange rate for words? 

Case in point . . . Here's a picture with a story about gender here, one that is told on the board in our office as well as in every classroom I set foot in. Our school at last count is 58% boys.  Girls are sometimes kept home to help in the household, or because their school fees are seen as a less worthwhile use of quite limited limited household resources.  I learned when sorting out school handbooks/report cards that the girls who had to repeat a grade were far less likely to return the next year than boys were.   This is the reality. 

Here is another picture, of a shirt I see a man in the village wearing often.  One of the many development slogan t-shirts floating around.  It says (and apologies for the bad picture), "Gender mainstreaming is not a request.  It is a requirement."  I'm still not exactly sure what that means, and am pretty sure that almost no one around here really understands it either, which is to say nothing of those others who can't read English all that well. 

Reading like a champion

So without Wifi in the residence (read: a Tube-free  environment), and with a handy Kindle Fire that has become my only personal functioning gadget, I have been reading like crazy.  It has been really been nice to rediscover the joys of just reading without all of the distractions (read: all of the Internet) that have taken me off the literary bandwagon in recent years.  It’s one of the many ways that I’ve been able to get a little of growth and the peace of mind I was looking for during these few months, along with the search for service, growth in compassion, travel, and relationship-building that led me to where I am.   Thanks to my sister and fellow VIDES volunteer who gave me a bunch of reading material, and for Amazon for making so many classics available for free.

New Conquests:
Don Quixote, which has been on my list since high school
The Qur’an in English, which has been on my list since college.
Cutting for Stone:  Fantastic. Came highly recommended by my sister, and I repeat the endorsement
A Casual Vacancy:  A good read, can see the Harry Potter voice in there, a good story but from Africa didn’t really move me
The Mantle of the Prophet, about religion in Iran, which I first bought when I begin with Farsi over a year ago.  It was excellent for anyone who wants to start getting their head around modern Iran
Un-Orthodox
Little Bee (fantastic, highly recommended)
This is How You Lose Her
The Road
Behind the Beautiful Forevers
A Hearbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
The Communist Manifesto, which I’ve been threatening to read since high school.


Beloved rereads:
Life of Pi, shortly before I saw the movie, once on my kindle in transit, once with the sisters, which is a good adaptation, although goes a bit overboard with the CGI.
A Tale of Two Cities:   Had been wanting to reread since Paris. Started in Rome, finished in Juba
100 Years of Solitude
The Hunger Games
Madeleine L’engle’s Wrinkle in Time, Swiftly Tilting Planet, Wind in the Door and Many Waters
A few stories from Interpreter of Maladies, my blog title’s baby mama.

Future challenges:
Democracy in America, vol. 1 and 2 (has been on my list since High School)
The Book of Mormon


Like in other phases of life where I’ve read a lot, it’s been a joy to find the connections between the written word and life experiences, and among the different, barely-related books I’m chewing through, from Cutting for Stone that referenced the Ethiopian dish I’d eaten the night before, to shifting from the story of Noah in the Qur’an to the its novelization in Many Waters.

Anyway, am posting this in case you were curious what I can possibly do when there’s no school in a world without home wi-fi access.  And it’s good motivation to continue knocking away at my list.

Other fun assigned reading:
P8 compositions. 

Signs I may have been here "too long"

• The other day, after making what I was certain was terrible food for our watchmen, said "oh well, it is food and there are hungry children in.  . . . Oh wait" *cringe*
• I am a constellation of mosquito bites and absurd tan lines. Farmer's tan combined with v-neck, additional demarcations at he elbow, ankle, knee, neck, watchband,  and of course, a pretty stunning flip flop tan
• I have become reasonably successful at the challenging but rewarding one-handed midair mosquito grab of death 
• After developing an aversion since the age of four, am starting to kind of like bananas.   Unto recently they were, along with Korean food, one of two foods I have actually tried and hated without good reason
• <75 degrees has started to feel cold
• I am developing a new lexicon and it hardly feels awkward anymore.   Peanuts are groundnuts, I "take" water, coffee, tea, etcetera, you "close" electrical outlets and stove burners, and the strong Salesian Italian influence has made mamma mia is my current exclamation of choice 
• Half the words I use give me flashbacks of trying to explain it to my students
•  I am definitely talking more slowly.  Still not enough that the students can easily understand me but better than when I left Americaland 
• I am beginning to recognize the various Nigerian movie actors and throw roles they are inevitably typecast in
•  Our oven is kinda difficult and here, where you don't throw away dishes that don't go as planned, I am starting to weirdly enjoy the taste of burnt cake

Cake that ended up resembling a map.  At the bottom right,
see Africa and what is either Eurasia, or an elephant
climbing Africa. 

Back on Track

The pre-exam week, exams, week of holiday, and subsequent teacher shortage and stint as a sub was definitely interrupted the flow of my work, and changed the nature of my mission.  It was frustrating to have everything change an to feel so inadequate for what the school suddenly needed, as I’m pretty sure my one or two dedicated readers out there could tell.

In the past week, I’ve mentally reframed this interruption as a reset.  I have less than 7 weeks left before I head home, and now, with a more normal rhythm and a looming expiration date on my incredible opportunity to do good here, I’m rededicating myself to a slightly reconfigured mission and using the numbered days as a motivating force, driving me to give it my all.

It was harder than anticipated to improvise a
lesson on the United States for a teacherless 6th grade class.

My class has shrunk.  Many of the girls that were coming to my class before exams, being the posse of seventh grade girls that they are (even though many are older, I think that there’s something universal in being a 7th grade girl. . . a weird paradoxical mix of defining your individual identity and having a bad case of groupthink, and insecurity laced with bravado), have decided not to come in the afternoons anymore.  During the school day, they said they would come, and then I ended up sitting in an empty classroom reading a Nigerian novel Sr. Betty loaned me.   I would go every day in the hopes of having just one student, and out of the fear of disappointing someone who legitimately wants to learn.  Like I keep saying in Arabic, “Wahid kifaya.  Sifr mish kifaya.”  (One is enough.  Zero is not enough).

So now, I’m still subbing a bit and helping in the library, but my work is concentrated on three girls of one family, ranging from 1st through 6th Grade, (sisters and cousins)  that returned recently from Khartoum. . . I work with them for a couple hours during the school day, and then they’ve become my only students in the afternoons as well.  That’s 3-4 hours of Laura time a day, but such is their commitment to learning English.

I’m going to try to profile one or two of them in greater detail for a future entry, but to give a quick idea one has finished 7th grade in Arabic-pattern schools only to be placed in 4th grade here, and even then, probably not grasping a lot of what’s going on in the class.  We work on phonics, handwriting, vocabulary, and conversation. . .  a very effective teaching aid has become conversations about “where is the bottle of water?” because I always have one on hand, and nothing teaches prepositions, personal pronouns, or vocabulary like repetition and physical demonstrations.

So for now (knock on wood!), it looks like I have a bit of a new groove going.   In many ways, these girls and I are meant for each other. They really, really, want to learn.  I desperately want to teach them.  I know their individual learning styles, strengths, weaknesses (such as a mental block on the letter y and occasional confusion between b and d).  And for once in my life, I’m engaging with someone such that my Arabic is better than their English.  When gesticulations, my rudimentary drawings, and simplified definitions fail, I can often come up with the Arabic definitions for phonetically simple, but conceptually challenging words like “try,” “hive,” and “brew,”

And there’s a concrete, manageable, but challenging goal: finish two phonics book and English textbooks from grades 1-3 (or 4!).   There’s a larger goal: at best, allow them to skip a grade that better matches their ages and previous educational attainment, and at worst, stop them from being held back a grade next year due to lagging English levels.  And with several hours a day, a few weeks might just be enough.   A friend recently advised me through my frustration not to let my preoccupation with data and measurable impacts prevent me from having faith in the unseen impact to my time here, but I hope that in this case, the impact might just be a tiny bit visible.

Stay tuned for (I’m sure they’re coming) new wrinkles and results on this front .

And for the rest of my time, and the rest of my interactions with the students and the local community, I’m trying to have it be guided by a line from one of the songs I’ve been having on repeat.

“Do I make myself a blessing to everyone I meet?” (“That Wasn’t Me,” by Brandi Carlile)

I can’t always live up to it, and I definitely can’t measure it.  But I can try my best, and leave the rest up to God to the redeeming powers of faith, hope, and love.

South Sudan in Pictures, Part 2

One night we had this incredible, monsoon-caliber rain.  This is what our front yard looked like in the first light of morning after the deluge

While waiting to put the rooms back together after they’d been beautifully tiled, some of the girls in P7 and P8 play jump rope. 

I’ve come a long way from home, only to find my obscure high school mascot incarnated on Sr. Betty's desk. 

Mother and Child (they were not supposed to be here, but beautiful anyway)